They Learnt to Make Fire
by Obsessed Lass
Summary: Hikigaya Hachiman's marriage with an extraordinary woman turns out to be perfectly ordinary, as expected.


_**They Learnt to Make Fire**_

 _Summary: Hikigaya Hachiman's marriage with an extraordinary woman turns out to be perfectly ordinary, as expected._

*

I've been married for quite a while now. Hikigaya Hachiman, beloved husband and father. However, contrary to my teenage convictions, I actually got a job. Being a freelance writer has been nice - I work as I please in the comfort of my home. No soul-crushing deadlines, no tyrannical boss. Unless you consider my beautiful wife whose demands I comply with without much protesting. Well, most of the time.

Very little has changed about Yukinoshita, except her surname. She still loves Pan-san, cats, and insulting every conceivable aspect of my existence. Even though our daughter no longer lives with us, thanks to a good-for-nothing brat she now calls her husband, Yukino likes to gloat over how her superior genes prevailed so that our precious progeny didn't inherit my rotten fish-eyes. Or my contemptible levels of intelligence. My son-in-law does look like Totsuka though, so Yu-chan got something from her daddy after all.

It has not been exactly dysfunctional, my marriage. Yukino and I make pretty good partners. Our daughter didn't turn out to be a cynic or a sociopath, so that's a huge win, given our stellar experience with our own parents. Even if she can be as ruthlessly forthcoming as her mother sometimes. Too bad some guys like that kind of thing. Exhibit A, yours truly.

The thing about marriage is that it's not at all as romcoms make it out to be. There's no fireworks, no waterfalls. No epic misunderstandings followed by crazy monkey sex. It's very unglamorous stuff, really. But there's something to be said about the mundanity of it all. It's a choice you make everyday, amidst all the little and not so little vexations of life, unlike passionate proclamations of love in the pouring rain which is practically cake walk unless you manage to get pneumonia. Roses and candles and lacy lingerie might be romantic and sexy and shit. Groceries and dirty laundry and electric bills? Not so much. But it's genuine. Homely. Enduring. Like toast.

With Yukinoshita, it's been like having toast accompanied by a wonderful serving of chamomile or oolong tea.

Good thing that I have never been one for _sturm_ and _drang_.

To be honest, I hadn't expected our relationship to survive her time abroad. Believe me or not, it wasn't some ridiculously handsome and intelligent foreigner I was worried about. Distance is not only about fidelity; it shows just how well you can get along without your special someone. Ultimately, it comes down to the fact if you want to.

Thankfully, Yukinoshita didn't. I had gotten too used to her particular brand of verbal evisceration to even consider spending the remaining of my lifetime with anyone else. What can I say? I'm a committed masochist.

My proposal turned out to be pretty anticlimactic, as expected. I was determined not to get down on my knees. I was too conscious of the fact that I looked funny enough without the help of such romantic antics. But I wanted it to be memorable, nonetheless. After a lot of careful consideration, I decided that the cat cafe where we had our first date all those years ago would be perfect. It would be completely unobtrusive with the right amount of nostalgia. And I was right.

When Yukinoshita didn't hear me when I said it the first time, too intent on fondling those stupid balls of fur, the feeling of deja vu was all too oppressive.

Damned cats.

Well, all's well that ends well, they say.

We haven't been exactly adventurous when it comes to bedroom statistics. Even in our honeymoon, we didn't just make sweet, sweet love in our hotel suite round the clock. That might have been influenced by my grievous selection of customized room decor. I wanted to surprise Yukino and well... I thought Pan-san would be a good choice. Take note, people. A cuddly panda not only not encourages conjugal intimacy with its toxic emanations of kawai, but actually kills the mood when you stumble into the room, half drunk, desiring nothing more than getting rid of your stupid clothes as quickly as possible.

Turns out that having sex when there is a life-sized panda on the wall looking at you with exaggeratedly large eyes feels very much like doing it in full view of a five year old.

Needless to say, we consumed a lot of wine during our stay at the hotel.

In contrast to our forced celibacy during our honeymoon, our first time together was unexpectedly beautiful. You know how people harp about sex being something transcendent when it's with the right person? Well, shit is true. I could have never imagined that it would make me feel so... complete. Sadly, I can't divulge any details. I promised Yukino that not a single soul would learn about it, not even under the guise of fiction. It's something that belongs just to the two of us. There's one thing I can say, though. Big breasts are way overrated.

I guess it means something that every time we have made love since has felt just as right, except the fiasco involving aphrodisiac body oils. Our skin looked like that of a flayed rabbit for weeks. That one time when Yukino thought to set up the mood with an unnecessarily lengthy artsy erotic drama doesn't count since I actually fell asleep sometime after watching the characters engage in laborious, apparently aesthetic coitus for the umpteenth time.

I got a severe backache the next day, having been evicted from our bed that night.

A good marriage, I've come to learn, is hardly about how often you have outlandish sex or dine in ridiculously expensive restaurants. It's about the understanding silence you share when together, the solitude that feels more serene when you absolutely trust your spouse to deal with the loud world. It has the sure, often imperceptible comfort of ratty old pyjamas.

Speaking of pyjamas, the picture I wake up to till this day, that of my sun-flecked wife wearing only a Pan-san tee, easily surpasses any Botticelli.

*

 _p.s. The title's derived from Margaret Atwood's poem **Habitation".**_ _Also, when Hachiman sometimes refers to his wife by her maiden name, it's meant as an endearment._


End file.
